“Pieces” – Flash Fiction for Friday Fictioneers

This flash fiction story is for Friday Fictioneers, the weekly prompt Rochelle Wisoff-Fields gives us on her blog, Addicted to Purple.  We get a photo and no more than 100 words to tell a story.  This week’s photo is from John Nixon.  If you’d like to read more responses to this prompt, or if you’d like to add your own, click on the blue frog below.

Image – Copyright John Nixon

Pieces

(100 words)

It was supposed to be funny, but seeing clown legs kicking out cacophonous chords on the piano made me anxious.  Where was the rest of the body?

I shuddered.

“You too?” The man beside me smiled sympathetically.

I shrugged.  I’d seen many things that shouldn’t exist: pieces separated, mixed and combined.  My dog had a clear plastic abdomen where goldfish swam.  My uncle considered himself a Dr. Frankenstein.  He was talented, but learned no lessons from his predecessor.

I was one of his hybrids.  This man smiling at me would be surprised if he saw me without these baggy clothes.

“The New House” – Flash Fiction for Friday Fictioneers

This story is for Friday Fictioneers, the weekly prompt Rochelle Wisoff-Fields gives on her blog, Addicted to Purple.  We get a photo and no more than 100 words to tell a story.  This week’s photo is from Douglas M. MacIlroy.  Also, if you’d like to read more responses to this prompt, or if you’d like to add your own, click on the blue frog below.

My take this week is grim.  Sorry about that!  Not sure how I got there…I think I was trying to make sure it wasn’t just a playful romp, but still had some plot, since the picture seemed so happy to me initially, and I think I overcompensated!

Photo Prompt – Copyright Douglas M. MacIlroy

The New House

(100 words)

Daddy tried to make unpacking exciting, chasing us with grandpa’s diver’s helmet, but even as we squealed, we felt dread.

That night, there were strange knocks and shadows.

We grew to accept these.

Eventually, we began to see another family: a father, mother and two boys.

In our dreams, the father and mother told us to leave.  The boys warned of consequences.  We woke from their pinches to see our doors swing open.

We didn’t leave.  Not in time.  After two years, Daddy fell down the stairs and died.  Mama sold the house, and we left, two years too late.